The guy nods, then leans forward. “My advice is to tell her all of that, as soon as you can. That, and probably beg forgiveness for being an idiot.”
I laugh once, harshly, and look at the guy. “I thought guys like you were supposed to be all about being nonjudgmental.”
The guy laughs and gets to his feet. “If I was who I look like, maybe. I'm just a psychology doctoral student doing a study. Thanks. And don't worry, this isn't going in any paper. Good luck, man.”
The guy leaves, and I get up, determined to find Katrina even if I have to tear Miami apart. I head back to my car to start my search again when I feel my phone vibrate and my ringer go off. I look, and it's Nathan. “Yeah, you found her?”
“Yeah, she's by the Miami Dade North Campus, close to Opa Locka,” Nathan says. “I'm uploading you a GPS location of where I am now.”
My phone buzzes and a map pulls up. I didn't even know the thing did that. I look, and realize I can get there in about twenty minutes. “Okay, I see it. I'm at the U, I'll jump on 95 up to there. Keep her in sight, Nathan.”
“Will do,” Nathan says. “She's been talking to some people, but I'm out of her direct sight. Don't worry Jackson, I know what I'm doing.”
“No doubt. I'll be there ASAP.” I start my engine and rush to the interstate, jumping on and driving north as quickly as I can. The traffic isn't bad, it's midday and the rush hour isn't for quite a while, so I make good time, getting off at Opa Locka in only fifteen minutes. I find Nathan's signal, and see his Tahoe parked in the parking lot of a flight school and what the sign says is a pilot supply store.
“Nathan,” I say when he rolls the window down. “Where is she?”
“Parking lot over there,” Nathan says, pointing across the street. I look, and see nothing. When I turn to look at him, he smirks. “Seriously. She went inside the tan building over there just five minutes ago. I think it's a small airline, maybe a puddle jumper type place.”
“What for?” I ask, and Nathan shrugs.
“Most likely she's close to being tapped out financially, and those sorts of guys can sometimes work deals.”
The door to the building opens, and I see Katrina step out, her backpack over her shoulder. She's changed shirts, wearing something almost normal, but there's no mistaking that angel's face or the short hair. “There. Come on Nathan, I can't let her go.”
Nathan nods and I get into his Tahoe, seeing Maverick in the back taking a nap. “Rough day for him?”
“He'll get a walk later,” Nathan says nonchalantly, starting the engine. “You ready to do some groveling?”
“Damn right,” I say with a laugh, feeling lighter than ever. I'm eager to talk to her, to tell her it doesn't matter about the money, that I need her in my life.
We're just about to cross the street when my phone buzzes again, and I pull it out, wondering who's texting me now. My heart jumps into my throat when I see that the text is from Peter.
Never, ever lie to me again. You're next.
“What the fuck?” I ask, but before I can show the text to Nathan, a red sports sedan pulls into the parking lot, the side windows rolling down. “No... NO!”
The shooter fires four times, the shots loud in the muggy Miami air, one of them catching Katrina in the forehead, where a giant fountain of blood goes flying. She crumples to the ground, and I'm trying to jerk the handle on my door, but Nathan's already slammed his foot to the gas, throwing me into my seat. “What are you doing? She's hurt!”
“She's dead!” Nathan yells, following the red sports car. “But we can get this bastard!”
His words sink in, and I look out the front window, nodding. “Get him.”
Nathan's Tahoe is big, and he's kept it in good shape, but the sports sedan is thousands of pounds lighter, lower to the ground, and more agile as it weaves through the traffic in front of us. We chase for over a mile, and in the distance, I can hear police sirens approaching. The car whips around a corner, and Nathan tries to follow, but his Tahoe is too big, and we spin out, nearly tipping over.
“No... no, NO!” Nathan yells, getting out of the driver's side and reaching to his hip, but his gun isn't there, and he realizes it. I'm out too, but the red car is gone, out of sight turning another corner, and I sink to my knees, going into shock. Nathan comes up and grabs me, dragging me to my feet. “Come on, Jackson. There's nothing we can do here. Let's go.”
“Go?” I ask, stupefied. “Go where?”
“Out of here for one,” he says, pulling me toward the Tahoe where Maverick is up and barking loudly. “You can't get whoever did this if the cops find us. Let's go.”
Chapter 25
Jackson